Ma can’t open the picture of the mystery item we filmed and sent her, so I’ll have to wait till Tom gets home to tell me to tell her what to do. Or to tell her himself.

This weekend Tom was really encouraging the sex and pelvic exam appointment. The one where I bring up the sterility (he suggested I don’t make it till after his appointment which is on 8/4). He said he’s ready to try when I am but wouldn’t push me to do anything I didn’t want to do. He said that just because sex doesn’t always turn out the way it should, don’t let that spoil other things. He also feels I should act on having my questions answered, rather than just talk about them.

Well, I guess you could say I’m feeling a bit braver and ready to take those first steps into finding out what’s wrong with me, but again, isn’t going back to sex just returning to the same old destructive cycle? Again, I don’t want to be trying to do something I’m not meant to be doing. If we’ve never gotten anywhere yet with it, why would we now? And also, should I really be going and bringing up my sterility to a doctor? Wouldn’t that just be getting me nowhere since I still don’t see how Tom’s subconscious, if not conscious, would let him cooperate with the testing since he’d have to be a part of it, too?

Well, if you’re like me, you believe there is no such thing as taking a wrong path in life. I believe that if I start to walk down a “wrong path” God will bump me off of it, so I can’t necessarily choose wrong when it comes to something like infertility testing. If he doesn’t want me tested, he’ll make sure something or someone stops that. Even women who marry abusive husbands didn’t take the “wrong step.” For whatever unfair reason, it was meant to be.

I would just hate it if they told me they couldn’t find anything wrong with me when I know damn well there is something wrong. Just like they said there was nothing wrong with the car when Tom knew good and well that there was something wrong. That’d be mean of God, in a sense. Just to get no answers when I know something’s wrong. Maybe there really is nothing wrong, though. Maybe it’s just a case of God making sure one of my eggs and one of his sperm never meet. That’s fine in this day and age. I don’t want an egg to meet one of his sperms, but I’d like to know why I’m sterile. Maybe they couldn’t tell me the cause of my sterility for sure, but is the problem within the uterus? The eggs? Something else? Tom feels it may be simple, but I just know it’s not. And I also just know that it’s not a case of nothing being wrong, too. I was predestined to be sterile. God sterilized me either before birth or before I was in my teens. I’m just glad that whatever is wrong, whether they can find it or not, can’t be fixed. And I just know it can’t be.

Tom said that we may go to a doctor who says all’s fine, or that they don’t know what’s up, but then we could go to another one a few months later, who knows more, and who can do something to answer my questions. Well, I hope not. Cuz any doctor who doesn’t know of a certain testing/technique with something like that, that really does exist, shouldn’t be out there practicing in the first place. Maybe some things can’t be tested, but they should be able to, for the most part, find the problem, then tell the person the different things they can do about it, so they know what their options are.

Will God let them find the cause of my sterility? Maybe he doesn’t want me knowing what’s up with me. Maybe he wants me to always wonder about it. Well, time will tell if I’m meant to know or not.

When I was in the 5th grade, I had an autograph book. When I was in my early teens, I had a little diary. I asked Mom if there was any chance she saved them for me to have when I got older, but I’m virtually 100% sure she doesn’t have either one of these things. Wish she did, though, cuz they’d be so neat to check out in this day and age.

I’m about as finished with food as I am with cigarettes. So much for that dream and so much for thinking I wouldn’t return to the 120s, even though it was only for a few hours. I learned that I must treat food the same way. I couldn’t cut down the cigarettes. I had to just quit. You either smoke or you don’t. That’s how it usually works. Same with food. Cutting down on food just doesn’t cut it. I have to either eat or stop eating altogether. I don’t know why the setback or why my metabolism decided to quit on me again. I ended up back up to 122 yesterday. Almost back to where I’ve always been since quitting smoking. Well, I’m really sick of this shit. Real fucking sick of it, so I’m not even gonna bother with food anymore. I’m just not even gonna bother.

Later…

It was a cloudy morning, so I took advantage of it and went out and sat out there reading. Wish it was cloudy more often here, cuz it makes for perfect tanning weather. When you’re getting directly hit by the sun, though, it’s scorching hot and I have to keep dipping in the pool with all the bees. Although today, there haven’t been too many. I wonder if they’re dying off for the year early. Bee season doesn’t usually end till September. And of course, I had to listen to the fucking dogs a couple of times while I was out there. That and Caddy kid.

I’m soooooo fucking hungry. It’s like craving cigarettes all over again only this time it’s food. A part of me just wants to say, “Fuck it! I’ll never be thin again. I know it. God knows it. So why don’t I just eat when I’m hungry and forget about how I look and what I weigh?” 

I broke down at 3 AM, not too long after I’d gotten up, and had a TV dinner. I’m tempted to have some popcorn, but then I’ll just want graham crackers or something else, too, later on.

I did a little walking and have begun doing 22 different exercises. I know that only about 5 of them will work, but oh well.

I made some tea in the coffeemaker. Yup, instead of putting a filter with coffee grinds in it, I put in 4 tea bags.

Later…

I just don’t understand. What the hell could’ve stunted my metabolism? I know I had pork rinds when we were waiting for Wal-Mart to open, but it’s not like I eat junk every day. I don’t eat a lot, period. I hardly eat. This just makes no sense. I could eat whatever I wanted to whenever I got hungry and I didn’t have to worry about gaining weight. Now, I can’t eat nothing without gaining weight. Just a banana will put two pounds on me. I just look at food and I gain weight! I haven’t had any popcorn or crackers, but again, do I want to live my life being hungry all the time? Some days I’m OK with it. Others are hard. Do I want to live on barely any food, or do I just want to let my body eat when it’s hungry and let my body weigh what it naturally wants to weigh?